Novel & Cerita Stolen Tongues Book

His body shook in rhythm with the blood flowing out of his mouth. Pain gushed through his body. Lucas was standing by a side, holding a tongue. He brought it to his view and gazed at it discriminatively. This was never expected. He knew the next words that would come out of this man's mouth would be what he would hate why not sever the main organ used for speech instead, which was the tongue? Lucas gazed at it more and summoned fire from the Underworld, engulfing the tongue whole and burning it down to crimps.

“Why did I even ask?” Jacob pulls out a book and I notice that one isn't dusty like the others. I move closer to him and we both stare down at the book. Its title is written in a language I don't understand. He pierces his thumb with his canines and places it on the cover page. His blood sips through the cover. The bookstore disappears and I find us standing in front of enormous black doors. “First time, you have proved yourself useful,” I say in approval. Jacob's head whips towards me. “Excuse me?”

They swarmed like hyenas, forcing my jaw apart while scraping up the debris. Rose thorns gouged my cheeks, drawing blood that mingled with the cloying floral aroma. I gagged on the metallic tang and prickly invasion, my throat raw and protesting. The crimson chaos blurred my vision. The tokens of affection I'd chosen so carefully were now weaponized against me. Monica and Jake observed with sadistic smirks, their eyes alight with vindictive triumph.

As if he realized what I was thinking now, in his desolate and weeful image, holding the body of the woman who could never be yours. There was a slight stamp, and my arms were released from that mass of melted stone that the tomb seemed to have become, and I turned my eyes to the tomb that crawled alone to the side, revealing a book with a golden and red cover and with words in a foreign language engraved on the page itself. I took the book and walked away, feeling my head heavy and my eyes wet by the tears that undoubtedly rolled down my face. Lilith was still there, standing in front of the tomb, but now she smiled slightly and her blond hair flowed around her as if a ghost wind hit her.

Of the altar shaking. She brushed her hands along the old tomes until one fell open by itself. It wasn’t in English. Or Latin. It was in tongues—ancient, divine. And yet she understood every word. The altar speaks through blood. But its vessel shall rise through fire. She who carries both shall command the storm. Her breath caught. Her fingertips tingled. The book pulsed with warmth. --- Outside the cathedral, two figures watched from the shadows. “She’s not ready yet,” one of them said, voice like smoke.

Countless scornful looks fell upon me, and my body stiffened. The words I had strung together were lodged fast in my throat. All I wanted was to retrieve my belongings. All I wanted was to say goodbye. "What are you doing here?" Before I had time to recover, Ivor emerged from the villa holding a stuffed toy. It was our token of love from when we were 18. On the day of our engagement, it went missing. I thought it was gone forever.

Jude The next morning, I wake with a weight pressing down on my chest. My body feels heavy, but my mind won’t rest. I spent most of the night turning from side to side, haunted by every mistake I have made. Isabel is gone, I threw her out of my life, but even with her out of the picture, peace doesn’t come. Because the truth is, my greatest mistake was not Isabel. It was losing Seline.

The chains snapped. Elena dove for the book’s spine, fingers prying at the binding. “The counter-contract! Dad’s erasure—it’s in the glue!” She dug, nails splitting, blood mixing with the book’s. The spine cracked, revealing a single red thread, pulsing like a vein. Marco’s voice was a whisper. “Cut it. But it’ll take one of us. The storyteller has to stay.” The book lunged, pages flapping into wings, the cover a maw. It swallowed Jenkins whole, his scream cut off as the pages closed. Lila’s flare gun fired, the light consumed. The book grew, towering, a cathedral of blood and memory.

To secure a major project, I had to fly overseas immediately. When I returned, two months had already passed. By then, that family was in complete ruin. Mr. Moonstone had been admitted to the ICU. Despite her advanced age, Mrs. Moonstone had boldly chosen love, running off with Caleb after emptying the family accounts. Emily, the illegitimate daughter, was ambitious, rallying shareholders to wrest control of the company from her. As for her so-called true love, Aaron, he caused her plenty of trouble as well. His plagiarism scandal had been exposed.

"Stolen, renamed, raised to perform loyalty. But not Laurent. Not blood. Not mine." Catherine flinched. The words landed where I intended. We had never spoken it aloud, not in twenty-two years. The secret that bound us, that defined every decision, every preference, every cold glance at the dinner table when Clara demanded attention and Celine sat quiet, waiting. "Don't," Catherine whispered. "Don't say it." "Why not?" I moved to the desk, unlocked the hidden drawer, pulled the leather ledger. "Because you forgot? Because you look at her now and you see the child you raised instead of the child you stole?"